


The Daily Grind

by cloudyscout



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coffee Shops, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hispanic Karkat, Humanstuck, I hope lol, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, as canon typical as the human au version of these characters can be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudyscout/pseuds/cloudyscout
Summary: A gratuitous coffee shop au, where the same thing that happens in every coffee shop au happens again, but this time, I'm writing it.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	The Daily Grind

**Author's Note:**

> PS: You may remember this work posted by a user named "paperskythewry," and containing significantly different details. That is me! I had abandoned it for so long that I kind of just wanted a fresh start, and then I ended up changing so much that I decided to just delete the old one. If you are here from the older version, I'm happy to see you again!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and to no-ones surprise, you’ve once again found yourself dick-deep in some idiotic customer-service related dilemma.

You’re not going to waste your time reflecting on all of the hapless twists and turns of your life from Birth to Now that led you into this miserable circumstance. There will be no sound of a record-scratching, no freeze-frame, no voiceover reciting: “I bet you’re wondering how I got here,” as you proceed with a deluge of expository horseshit that nobody really cares about.

If anyone’s wondering “how you got here,” you are honestly the last person to fucking ask about that. You don’t know who to blame, and you don’t know what you possibly could’ve done to deserve this. And going on a meandering trip down memory lane certainly isn’t going to help you figure that out.

It’s only been two hours into your shift, and the way things are going, you just might check yourself into a fucking psychiatric facility any minute now. Not unlike every other day of your pitiful fucking existence, some idiot has taken it upon themselves to concoct a mess of gargantuan proportions, for which the responsibility to rectify rests entirely upon your sorry shoulders. 

In this particular case, the idiot in question happens to be Emily, the college freshman you work with. Earlier in the morning, she forgot to put the lid on the blender before she turned it on, opening the gates of strawberry-banana hell all over the countertops, walls, fucking everything.

Which, if you ask you, should’ve _more than filled_ your daily Gargantuan Mess Quota. But silly you. You forgot! You recently cashed in a BOGO free coupon, and are thus entitled to one _additional_ Gargantuan Mess, completely free of charge! Oh, the savings!

So not _only_ did you have to clean up that first, literal Mess, because God knows you are the only competent employee this cafe has every laid its proverbial eyes on, but _ALSO,_ all that spilled smoothie gunked up the blender so horribly that it was rendered utterly fucking useless, leaving you with only one other blender in it’s wake. Which doesn’t bode well, considering you work at a COFFEE SHOP and, among many other appliances, the blenders are PRETTY INTEGRAL to the whole operation here.

But it turns out you don’t even _have_ to cast aspersions on how well/poorly this whole only-one-fucking-blender situation will bide, because it’s _already_ boding terribly right before your eyes. Or. Behind your back, you guess. You don’t have to see it, because you are just that intimately familiar with the siren song of impending devastation. And it sounds like:

“Man, why are you takin’ so fuckin’ long? It’s only a couple a drinks... I have places to be.”

God, who’s this douchebag? And who the hell does he think he’s talking to, because there’s no _way_ it could _possibly_ be you. Aside from the fact that you _did_ take over drink-making duty from Emily, who got pretty flustered after everything with the smoothie, (that is, more flustered than she had to have been to spill smoothie everywhere in the first place) there is no fucking way anyone could be watching you right now and actually have the nerve to demand you go _faster._ And as if you’re not already operating at superhuman speeds, you’re doing it all with only one functional blender. 

Everybody out of the GODDAMN WAY--you’ve got a pitcher full of ice, a tray full of cups, and a head full of fuck you.

Once the contents of his _second_ cup are in the blender, you take the opportunity to turn around and get a good look at the putrid visage of whoever’s enough of a whiny fuck to complain at you while you’re obviously already going as fast as you can. The blender whirrs loudly as you jam your thumb against the button, so you have to raise your voice to respond.

“I’M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT, IT’LL JUST BE A SECOND!” You project as you turn around to face him, hoping your chipper customer-service voice is friendly enough to get him to realize how much of an ass he’s being. And then you notice who it is. 

You can’t believe you didn’t recognize his stupid, snivelly voice, considering how often he comes in here-- ordering pretentious drinks loud enough so everyone in line can _bask_ in the refinement of his palate, only to take _barely_ two sips before he leaves. 

You wouldn’t have thought he’d be the type of person to order four _frappuccinos,_ of all things, but it’s evident that this guy's desperation for attention far outweighs his pretense of sophistication. So, actually, he is _exactly_ the type of person to order four frappuccinos, as long as having a sense of entitlement about it is on the table. Bonus points if it’s the middle of fucking winter.

“Here’s the thing though. It already _has_ been a second.” He scoffs, crossing his arms contemptuously. “What, am I just supposed to wait around here all day? Like. This _is_ a coffee shop, ain’t it? I don’t really think I’m askin’ too much here.”

You turn back away from him, gritting your teeth as you take the pitcher off the blender and pour it into the second cup, topping it off with whipped cream and a deft drizzle of chocolate. 

“I’m sorry about that, we had a problem with one of our blenders earlier.” You throw over your shoulder, grabbing the milk again and getting started on the next one. “I’m almost done.”

  
  


“Well! Can’t someone else help you, at least?”

You turn a quarter-ways back towards him, shovelling ice into the blender again, and trying as hard as you can to maintain your flawless imitation of ‘friendly cashier who _isn’t_ fighting a losing battle against the impulse to open the register and cram this guys ugly purple head in.’ 

“I’m sorry, the only other person working is at the register. And, as you can see, we’ve got a lot of other customers to--”

“Well a course you’re gonna have other customers!” He interrupts, leaning on the counter with both hands, tapping his fingers against the granite. If this whole outburst didn’t make him look ridiculous enough, the MULTIPLE gaudy rings on each impatient digit aren’t doing him any favors. “But I’m one of ‘em, aren’t I? Not to mention, they’re still orderin’ and I already ordered fuckin’ ages ago!

“Which I wouldn’t a done if I thought it was gonna be such a goddamn ordeal...” He adds, muttering.

Maybe this pointless back and forth would be a little less wholly unbearable if this asshole’s voice didn’t grate on you like fingernails on the world’s shittiest chalkboard, tirelessly scratching out each note of the theme song to fucking Harry Potter. You can’t put your finger on _exactly_ what about him reminds you so much of that TERF’s shitty little boy-wizard, but there’s something there for sure.

Every word is fucking dripping with condesenscion and European affect. But you swallow the lump of growing irritation in your throat. You just have to breathe and not say anything stupid. You only have one more drink left, anyways. Which you’d probably already be done making if he didn’t keep distracting you.

“Uh, hello? Do you have anythin’ to say for yourself?”

You huff out a harsh breath of air, calling behind you again as you start on his last drink.

“I’m _so_ sorry, but if you could _just_ be patient--

“What _ever_. _Some_ of us are on a schedule, here! We can’t all spend the whole day dickin’ around behind a counter an’ then makin’ a bunch a pathetic excuses about how it’s _too hard--_ ”

“Oh my _God!”_ You whirl back around, slamming the milk jug in your hands back down on the counter. “Did I _say_ it was too hard?!”

Well, that brief display of reservation on your part was always too good to be true. You can’t fucking take this anymore.

He’s silent for a moment, gaping at you in a way that just makes you even more unbelievably pissed off. 

“Uh.” He finally says, pulling his hands off the counter.

“I didn’t _say_ it was ‘too hard.’ And thank god that I finally know for sure that you weren’t listening to a goddamn _thing_ I was saying this whole time! You’re in luck though, you caught me in a good enough mood that I’ll say it one more time, just for you!”

He blinks at you, looking taken aback.

“Just. A. Second!!!” You grip your side of the counter, making sure to enunciate each syllable. “Which, just so we’re _absolutely clear,_ that means: You. Have. To. _Wait._ And if you’re still having trouble with the concept, I’d invite you to take a look around! Rest assured, any one of the people who’ve been standing in line beside you this entire time can provide you with a practical example of ‘waiting’ in action!!!

“But, oh! Wait! How could I be so stupid? How dare I hold you to the same threshold of basic human decency as everybody else in here, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty! Would you like me to crawl over the counter and kiss your shoes, my liege? 

“That was _sarcasm,_ by the way, since I guess I have to spell this shit out for you. Just to clear away any of your lingering delusions: _no,_ this establishment _wasn’t_ actually erected as a monument to the size of your dick! 

“Lo and behold, it is actually just a normal coffee shop! And I am just a normal guy who works here, whose sole motivation for being here today--and this one will really knock your cashmere socks off--is to take home a PAY. CHECK. That is to say, I come here _exclusively_ to get a job done! So while, to you, my job may _look_ like ‘dicking around being a counter,’ here’s the deal: If I _really_ wanted to dick around, I would just do it in the privacy of my own home--where I know I won’t be running into some cocky, self-entitled prick wearing a stupid scarf and jacking off to the sound of his own--”

  
  


“Excuse me, are you the manager?” He interrupts, and you abruptly stop, loosening your grip on your own hair as you’re shocked out of your shitfit.

What is he talking about?

“Yeah, what can I help you with?” You hear to your right, and your stomach drops. Shit.

Santino is standing right beside you.

Fuck. What are you _doing?_ You feel your face getting even redder, if that’s even possible. Your mouth, which you could’ve sworn was frothing a second ago, feels uncomfortably dry as you turn towards him, avoiding eye contact.

Even though you’re looking down at your shoes--a ratty pair of off-brand Converse--you can tell he’s looking at you. Then at the customer. Then back at you. You hear him sigh:

“How about you head to the back room for a second, Karkat.”

* * *

  
  
  
Every reference you have, which is to say, your entire cinematic library, tells you that the series of events that just unfolded will not end well for you.

If you were the protagonist in one of your movies, this would be the part in the opening scene where the leading lady gets fired from her high-powered corporate job in the city, turning her whole life upside-down in one convenient narrative beat. 

And of course without her job she can’t afford rent, and all her shallow friends abandon her once she’s stripped of her social status, and that night as she’s heading home with all of her desk toys in an overflowing box, in a moment of heavy-handed symbolism that will surely continue throughout the film, her _car breaks down,_ so now she has to walk home in the dark, and _of course_ it’s fucking raining and her makeup is all messed up and suddenly she _slips,_ breaking one of her expensive heels, and leaving her to hobble home, dripping wet and making an absolute crying spectacle of herself.

And then, in a particularly pathetic and unacceptably long scene, she calls up her parents who she hasn’t spoken to in years for God-knows-what reason, probably just to drive home the not-so-subtextual message here that ‘women who put their career first are loveless bitches!’ But of course her parents automatically forgive her and she cries to her mom while she packs her bags to move back to her shitty home-town and live with her family again.

And goody! It’s just in time for Christmas! Which of course the protagonist hates because she’s pathologically cynical--which, again! In case you’ve forgotten! Isn’t just a personality trait, but in fact! A terrible symptom of her cold, uncaring former life that she _must_ be cured of at all costs! And so now we get to watch this D-list blonde bitch re-adapt to life in a small town, which, despite APPARENTLY having grown up there, she’s having a farcical amount of difficulty with! And as an upbeat rendition of “Jingle Bells” plays in the background, we watch a montage of her struggling with basic household tasks, because as we all know by now, Women are simply incapable of being _both_ business-savvy _and_ good at cooking!!!

But, not to worry, the writers don’t stay distracted by their unbridled misogyny for too long, eventually we finally get to meet the white-bread romantic lead she was posing with on the poster, who turns out to be some happy-go-lucky townie that she vaguely remembers from Highschool. And _finally,_ with the help of his uncannily pristine teeth and a goddamn golden retriever, she _finally_ learns that if she just shuts her mouth and never has any good sex ever again, she will _finally_ be happy. Fade to black. Credits play over Mariah Carey’s festive, dulcet tones.

Except you don’t get a romance arc in your movie, even a ridiculous heterosexual one. You just lose your job, drop out of school, and die alone. 

Or. You’re about to, anyways.

All you can do for now is shut yourself in Santino’s office and wait.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done a flailing pirouette off the handle at work, but it is your first time since being appointed shift supervisor. You used to hassle Terezi all the time about wanting her job--and you sort of promised yourself that if that ever really happened, you’d finally get your shit together. Prove that you have what it takes to be a good leader, or whatever.

Clearly, the only kind of leadership you’re suited for is leading yourself further and further into your own goddamn grave.

Your eyes are closed when the door finally clicks open, and you quickly sit up in your chair, watching Santino take a seat at his desk. He sighs, rubbing at his temples. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your apron. God, finding a new job right now is gonna suck, you’re already drowning in review and term papers, you really _don’t_ want to add ‘revising your resume, sifting through job listings, and filling out a bunch of applications’ to your mile-long mental checklist.

“I’m not going to fire you, Karkat.” Santino finally says, breaking the silence. You didn’t even realize you had been holding your breath, until you breathe again. 

“You’re not?” You choke out. You grimace at how much you sound like a guilty little kid being reprimanded by his parents. 

To your surprise, he responds with a grim laugh, and sits up to look you in the eye again.

“I’ll take that to mean that we _both_ know I should,” he sighs, running a hand through his thinning hair. 

“Don’t get me wrong, you left a real mess out there. I mean, I had to _apologize_ on behalf of the store to _that_ guy.” He rolls his eyes, gesturing with his thumb. “And he still wouldn’t leave until I gave him a discount. Obviously, we’ve got a problem here. I mean, we’ve been over this before…”

You nod. God, _how_ are you not getting fired right now? 

“But to be honest with you...with Terezi leaving... I don’t know if I trust any of these kids with the job. And you know I can’t be here all the time.” He leans back in his desk chair, resting his chin in his hand. “Point is, nobody else has been here as long as you have. None of these kids know the job as well as you do, or take it as seriously. And I think you deserve some credit for that. That’s why I promoted you in the first place.”

“Santino, I--”

“You’re right for the job.” 

“ _How_ can you say that? You just caught me cursing out a customer! I would say ‘not verbally assaulting the guests’ is about as low as the bar can get. But, here I am, limbo champion of the year!”

“Whether or not you can tolerate rude customers isn’t my primary concern. I mean, that _would_ be ideal,” He concedes, giving you a meaningful look. “But people are not ideal. They have their limits. What I’m more concerned about is your relationship with your coworkers.”

You throw your hands up in the air.

“They _hate_ me! If that’s what’s most important to you, I don’t know why you didn’t fire me a _month_ ago. I mean, have you noticed how many of them have quit since I became shift supervisor? Emily and I are the _only_ two people still working weekdays! Sure, _sometimes_ Katie but--”

“I’m glad you mention that.” He interrupts, leaning forward in his chair again.

Leave it to you to look ‘being saved from complete financial dismay’ in the mouth. Now you’ve talked him into _actually_ firing you.

“I’m sure you know that Terezi took the laid-back approach when it came to making sure things got done around here--”

“-- _Do_ I. Ugh.” 

Are you ever going to _shut the fuck up???_

“--My _point_ is, she wasn’t exactly invested in the success of the team as a whole. Not the way you are. Sure, you rub some people the wrong way, but in the end, you care about keeping people working together.”

Right, and that’s why all of your coworkers seemed to start dropping like flies just days into you getting promoted. You guess you _were_ the one who got them working together enough to form a mutiny.

“The only thing is, you can’t expect people to work with _each other_ if you refuse to work with _them_. You can’t pick a fight with everybody we hire. I mean, these kids have better things to do than get yelled at by some ornery 20-something every day.” He explains, his grey eyebrows furrowing as his face changes expression.

Santino seems to pause in anticipation for your next interruption, but you bite your tongue. You are, in fact, an ornery 20-something. You're not going to argue with that.

“So. Here's what we're gonna do." He continues. "I finally found someone to pick up a little slack around here, and he should be starting by the end of the week. And if you can get through training him, for a whole week--no complaints, then we won't have any problems."

He gives you a kind, tight-lipped smile.

"Just relax, okay? You're a good kid.....And. In the meantime, could you be a little nicer to Emily?" He adds with a wince.

“She broke the blender! Who forgets to put the lid on a blender!!!” You shout, launching yourself up from your seat and gesturing wildly with your arms. Santino gives you a warning look, and you drop back down into your seat.

And then, there isn’t really anything left to say besides:

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! updating soon, hopefully! (now that im on ~serotonin reuptake inhibitors~)


End file.
